Penny Alley
by BigDamnReader
Summary: When the crew is split up after bombs strike the town, the crew is left in a difficult position whilst Simon, left behind, must fight to survive and reunite all the while trying to escape his nightmarish situation that could prove to be fatal at any moment.
1. Evacuation

**Note: Hey guys, new story for you. Don't worry, Lions and Little Birds is still ongoing, I'm just trying to sort out plot and characters and such. Anywho.**

 **Some info for you about this one. It's pre BDM but Simon and Kaylee, whilst not fully there yet, do have something going.**

 **Anyway, enjoy the story and leave a comment if you feel generous. Really would love to know what you think.**

* * *

"Quick! Kaylee, Wash! Come on, up you get!"

Panting in fear they sprinted up the ramp, bending over and trembling in fear when they reached the inside of the cargo bay. Mal reached forward and plucked them further into the ship. Shouting at them to get to their respective stations, he watched them for a moment, weaving their way through the small huddle of people just standing in the cargo bay looking confused and afraid. Mal turned his gaze back to the world outside, muttering 'come on' over and over. His words became more desperate as the seconds ticked on, knowing he was cutting it close. His hand rested on the 'shut' button.

A sudden bomb, exploding much too close, made his decision for him and he slammed his hand down. Not staying to watch the doors close, he sprinted to the bridge, yelling at Wash to get them away.

"Where to?"

"Anywhere. Another planet preferably."

Gulping at the panic in the Captain's voice, Wash did as he was bid then jumped as Mal slammed his hand into the lockers. Not daring to look, he kept his focus on the controls in front of him. Hearing the Captain curse furiously, he swallowed heavily and looked over his shoulder. The man was stood, hands clenched, breath escaping through clenched lips, staring hard at the ever-shrinking world as they flew away from it. Looking closely, Wash could still see the bombs being exploded as well as the trails of other fleeing ships.

"Mal..what's happ-"

"Keep flying Wash. Just keep flying."

Wash did just that.

Mal stormed away from the bridge, cursing the God he didn't believe him. Reaching the cargo platform, he looked down with steely eyes as the scraggily group whispering hysterically among themselves. Counting down from ten, he released some of the tension tight in his shoulders and raised his voice, yelling over the audible distress.

"All right, everybody listen up!"

They fell silent and Mal felt the power of thirty pairs of eyes turn on him. He held back to cry of anger as he thought about what he'd left behind for these people.

"I know everythin' is a mite confusin at the moment. However, we are flying to the nearest safe planet to get some help. I need you to stay calm and help my crew by sitting down and trying to be quiet. Dong ma?"

It took a moment, them obviously being a bit wary, but they slowly began to sink to the floor, breaking off into smaller groups and speaking in low tones to one another. A few people howled in distress - this situation obviously hitting them- but they were quickly hushed, nervous glances being shot his way. Sighing thankfully, he moved sluggishly down the stairs, the impact of his decision beginning to weigh on him. He tried to reason it with himself: There wasn't enough time, he had to look after these people, he had to look after the rest of his crew...

They all fell short of alleviating his guilt.

He stepped through into the area outside the infirmary and felt, more than saw, the gazes of his crew. The obvious absence was felt as well.

"Sir?"

It would be Zoe. It had to be Zoe who would start it off. None of them would have dared break the tense silence except his second in command. He closed his eyes for a second, breathing deeply through his nose before looking up at a sea of expecting faces. He moved further into the room and stood facing them, arms crossed protectively over his chest as though he subconsciously expected them to attack him.

"I got Wash flying us to the nearest planet which, by my reckoning, is about two days away. Now, you've no doubt noticed the large number of people in the cargo hold. That means that we're gonna have to go to rations and that means all of us, _Jayne._ "

The man looked offended and he opened his arms challengingly. "Hell Mal, I ain't doin' nothin' wrong. Why you always gotta be picking on me, huh?"

"Captain." He looked back to Zoe and found her standing erect in the infirmary doorway. Her face gave nothing away.

"Captain, what about..." She couldn't say the name and he gave a small thanks that Kaylee wasn't in the room at the moment. This was going to be hard anyways and having her hear what he was about to say would bring him apart at the seems.

"I didn't have no choice Zoe. I gave him time, he didn't reach us. Don't ask me what that means for anybody, cause I don't know. Now, I need you all to go about as if everything is okay. I don't need a stampede on my hands so Zoe, could you please keep an eye on those people."

She nodded and he took a tiny bit of strength in her unquestioning support.

"Jayne, you swap with her in about four hours time. Dong ma?"

Giving them a final glance, he moved through the room towards the stairs, ignoring the sharp pair of eyes he knew would be following him from the corner of the room. He'd already failed her once, no need to make it more painful; he'd speak later, after they'd all calmed down some. As he reached the steps Inara grabbed his arm in a feather light grip, a quiet but no less urgent 'Mal' dropping from her lips. He snorted ruefully and shook her hand off; he wasn't looking for comfort, not now.

* * *

Kaylee, tinkering away at the engine, was (thankfully) oblivious of the awkward conversation happening above her. She was solely focused on her work, desperate to not think about the events that had taken place not even half an hour before. It had been so sudden, so loud, so frightening and she had thought for a second that she would never make it, that Mal would have to go see her daddy and explain what had happened to his daughter on some far off planet. Then he'd tell her sisters and her mama and then-

Letting out a sob, she dropped to the floor, shivers racking her frame. She had been so _scared_ , so worried that everything was going to go wrong. Reaching out with a pale hand, she grabbed the grated floor tightly and felt the familiar vibrations sooth her anxiety. She sat like that for what felt like an eternity before eventually wiping her eyes and giving the engine the attention it deserved. The familiar cranking and whirring washed over her and she once again felt at peace. It was, she said to herself, stupid for her to think it wouldn't turn out well. After all, when hadn't this crew picked themselves up after its problems? What with Niska and Hillfolk, they had to know how to bounce back.

"Kaylee!"

The young mechanic jumped at the shout, a hand shooting to her heart. Letting out a shaky breath, she smiled as she saw Inara lingering in the doorway and gestured for her to come in. Kaylee did not notice her reluctance however.

"Jeez 'Nara, talk about spooking people. The Cap'n need me for anything?"

Inara looked at her friend with calm eyes and Kaylee was immedietly put on guard. Inara might be a companion but she never managed to fool her and Kaylee knew something was slightly off straight away. She reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it in support; she was surprised when Inara drew it towards her chest and wrapped her other hand around it, effectively sandwiching Kaylee's hands between her own.

"Kaylee, darling.."

"Yeah 'Nara? What is it, what's wrong?"

Inara was silent for a moment, unable to meet the younger woman's eyes. Kaylee drew in a deep breath and felt tears gather at her own; it was rare when Inara wasn't collected and it always meant something bad, something extraordinarily terrible had happened. Something that wasn't easily fixed.

"Kaylee, when we left, did you happen to notice anything?"

Kaylee paused and ran the words through her mind then went back through her memories, from her in the yard to her arriving in the engine room. Nothing seemed amiss and she told Inara so; the woman just squeezed her hand and looked at her with pity.

"Oh mei-mei, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Inara, what are you- what's happened- Inara what's going on?" Kaylee was starting to shake and panic and Inara seemed to realise that her apologies were only making things worse.

"Mei-mei, it's Simon. He didn't make it back to the ship."

Numb, Kaylee didn't feel her knees buckle, nor Inara's hands as she helped her to the hammock in the corner. Simon hadn't made it back to the ship. Simon, their doctor, _her_ doctor, hadn't made it back. That meant one of two things. Either he was dead -which didn't bear thinking about- or he was alone on that planet; either way, he was alone and wasn't safe with her and the rest of the crew. Oh God, what about River?

"Ho-How, I mean why?" Her words were all muddled and Inara brought her into her side, brushing her hair with soft hands.

"We had to go. Mal had no choice. It was either him or all the people on the ship and-"

At her sob Inara fell silent and hugged her tighter, trying to restrain her own tears. The idea of telling Kaylee had been horrible but she knew it had to be done. Better now, she reckoned, then in an hour or so when they were getting over their escape. The loss of Simon was devastating and not just in a 'oh-there-goes-the-doctor' way. The crew had really warmed up to the Tams after the Jubal Early incident and she knew that even Jayne would be feeling slightly perturbed by his absence. When she had left the common room she had seen Book trying to speak to River and her heart tightened as she thought about what that poor girl was going through. She tightened her arms around Kaylee and continued trying to offer her all the comfort she could give.

* * *

Dickson kicked the piece of rubble away, coughing at the dust that flew off as it crashed onto the streets. His fellow soldiers turned to the sound, raising their guns in alarm. Seeing it was only him, they cursed loudly and moved away, searching the ruins for anything valuable. Grunting in dismissal, Dickson carried on walking aimlessly, eyes raking over the destroyed territory around him.

As soon as their bombs had stopped dropping, the soldiers had been sent into to sweep the city for any thing useful and it was made clear the people, if they were in the right condition, fell into the category alongside supplies or jewels and money. Scanning the crushed skyline, he very much doubted that they would find anybody alive, let alone fit enough to be taken along. Going from the reports over his radio, that was turning out to be true throughout the city.

Stopping to take a small break, Dickson leaned against a partially destroyed wall and pulled out his cigarettes. Lifting one to his lips, he shot to his feet at a sound coming from the other side of the wall. Speaking through the radio quietly, he alerted the men around him and they all gathered together, waiting for another sound. After a minute passed and no noise came again, Dickson worried that he had been mistaken and prepared to make hasty excuses when they all became ware of another groan and a small shuffling sound. The men moved without comment, most moving to cover behind scattered debris on the street. Dickson pressed himself against the wall and another man - Rob- adopted a similar position on the other side. They waited with bated breath.

A man, no taller than 5'9" stumbled through the crumbling doorway, dust and blood covering every inch. Dickson could see a dash of black hair as he paused, one convulsing arm lifting up to cover his eyes from the sunlight. His clothes were in rags and, stepping forward, he obviously favoured his right leg. Nodding to Rob, Dickson stepped away from the wall and swung the butt of his rifle into the man's bad leg. He went down with a grunt at the same time Rob yelled for him to put his hands up. Still dazed, he raised them slightly, wincing in pain as the sunlight hit his eyes. The other soldiers came out from behind their cover, rifles still pointed towards the kneeling figure.

Dickson, pleased with his find, swaggered forward and gripped the man's hair tight and pulled it back, eliciting a pained whine from his captive. He glanced at him, happy to find that he was young also; prime of life and barely a scratch meant the perfect kind of person to fall into the useful category. Dropping the hair he reached behind him for his baton. Holding it under his prisoners chin, he delighted in the fear he could see shining through the hazy gaze. He smirked as he spoke into his radio.

"Control, this is Private Dickman of 3rd squad. Yeah, we got somebody for ya."


	2. A new life

He had never seen so many hopeless people at once. Herded into the remains of the town square, Simon gazed at the people around him, wincing as sunrays shot into his eyes. His head wound was irritating him, the dried blood making his skin itchy. He didn't dare scratch. Considering they had clubbed him for trying to aid a young woman, he feared their reaction should he move again. He did not know to which organisation these men belonged- from their uniforms they could not be alliance. Simon wasn't aware of any strides the planet had with another. He wished somebody would tell him what was going on.

A small collection of soldiers were going round the gathered people, taking documents and sending them into various cordoned off zones. Simon worried what would happen when they couldn't find his. Eyeing the bodies piled at the side, he figured he already knew the answer - and it didn't end well for him. Yet fear kept him motionless, mind whirring as he tried to reason a way out that wouldn't end with a bullet in the back of the head. His time in the black kept his mouth shut also: Simon wouldn't sway these men with talk of money or family. The soldiers marched ever closer, piteous cries dog stepping their entire journey. Simon felt his breath catch. Felt his heart stop. Felt the world crumbling around him. He blinked as he turned his face to the sun, forgetting his wound in panic. He raised his hand to his head, urging the pain to stop. His ears filled with the sound of pulsing blood and he swallowed, desperate to rid himself of the taste of blood.

"Papers!"

Wait, no

"Papers, now!"

A rifle crashed into his ribs, sending him sprawling to the dusty floor. Uninvited hands roved over his body, pulling apart his waistcoat and delving into his pockets. After a moment they stopped and stepped back. Simon looked up in fear.

"Where are they?"

Head wound smothering him, Simon didn't respond. A heavy boot caught him in the side of the face and he curled into himself, gasping in pain. The hands returned, yanking him upright and sending the world into a spin. Through a haze he heard the question barked again. He thought he slurred an answer. An unsatisfactory one, if the punch to his gut meant anything. They searched his body again, finding only the same as before. At a nod more soldiers came and, gripping his arms tight, dragged him away, feet trailing behind him. Simon tried to bring the world into focus, head reeling at the sudden changes in movement. The soldiers, uncaring of their charges plight, forced him along, past the curious stares of the others.

Simon's world snapped back into clarity as his feet met wooden boards. Looking about him, he found himself in a flimsy workshop - now office- that bordered the square. The soldiers pulled him to the desk, behind which sat a bowed head of greying hair atop a clean, starched, green uniform. With one last, fond punch to the spine, Simon found himself shaking alone in front of the sitting figure. Squeezing his fingers into his palm, Simon tired to control himself as his body flooded with pain. The man took no notice though, pen racing over various pages, a look of deep concentration on his face. He could not see a clock but Simon felt the seconds shuffle by with every new flare of agony.

Finally the man seemed to realise he was not alone and, with a deep sigh like one disturbed in a moment of peace, he raised he face. Simon flinched back. A grotesque scar covered his face from temple to chin, blanking one of his eyes and giving him a malevolent apperance. Seeing him move, a soldier swung a baton into the back of his injured leg, making him fall to his knees and grab the desk in a white-knuckled grip. The man at the desk smiled. Distracted by the devil in it, Simon didn't hear the man ask, voice gravelly, why the soldiers had brought 'this rodent' to him. The soldier replied in a shaky voice; The man smiled again. Slowly wrapping scarred knuckles around Simon's fingers, he reached out with the other hand and began to stroke his hair. Simon almost retched.

Face dropping, the man grabbed Simon's hair and smashed his face into the desk. Chocking out a cry of pain, Simon tried to drop to the ground but, instead, found himself hauled to his feet, thrown back in the hands of the soldiers. The man moved around the desk and began examining him. Gums lifted, hands twisted, shirt yanked out from his trousers, Simon felt like a show pony. A bloody, shaking, terrified pony. The man finished with a hard slap to his face.

"So, you don't have any papers? No ID at all?"

Simon shook his head, desperation mounting. He almost cried when the man just hummed and gestured to the guards, resulting in him thrown to the floor.

The man walked back to his desk and sat down, rifling through his papers again. Simon didn't know if he should look at him or not.

"This...presents us with a problem. We don't know who you are, what you can do...who might be looking for you."

Simon remained quiet, fighting against his instinct to blurt out his information. He was still a fugitive, and just because they weren't Alliance didn't mean they wouldn't collect the bounty. Months of fear taped his mouth shut; a psychological gag he couldn't rip off. The man stared at him for a moment, smile returning to his face.

"I should have you killed."

Simon didn't dare breathe, didn't dare move. If he stayed still the man might forget him. Simon could leave this godforsaken planet and return to Serenity. He closed his eyes to stop the dream escaping.

"But I shan't. You are young, healthy. You will be good as we rebuild this planet to what it should be; As we make it the paradise my people deserve. Your blood will fuel the rivers of generations to come. How fantastic your otherwise worthless life will become."

* * *

Simon had returned to the square for two days, the man ignorant to his cries as he tried to tell him he was a doctor. Starving, beaten, shaking in the cool air, Simon had hunched for the entire time before eventually moving onto a truck. Destination unknown, he sat miserable, a mirror image to the men huddled around him. He ordered himself to not give in, to not surrender to despair. Serenity was out there somewhere and he was certain he would return to it, reunited with his mei-mei. The journey had been long and exhausting, the men too dazed to converse. Simon had become increasingly withdrawn, praying to a God he didn't believe that his friends were safe. When the truck finally pulled up, Simon had almost merrily jumped down from the truck.

They had arrived at a farm yard and Simon could see various other trucks pulling up from different directions. His would not be the only group of strangers, then. The yard - more akin to an open area of dried ground- was sparse, a lonely stone cottage standing beside a decaying barn almost blending into the background. A large stable in fantastic condition stood empty, and Simon imagined it once held some of the finest horses in the verse. The others looked about curiously, taking in the sight of what would be their new home. As the other trucks pulled to a stop, pouring out their own contents, soldiers gathered in the middle. They were eyed gingerly from all sides.

Simon found his mind flashing back to his history lessons, of days spent learning about invasions and occupations. At first he had enjoyed hearing the bloody side of life but then his other studies grew and the fire of medicine was lit within him. They became lessons of torture. Textbook pictures of death and slavery bombarded him and he fought them back with a grimace. It was no use looking to the past if he was to survive this future.

From a hovercraft stepped down a portly man, brass buttons of his uniform shining in the sun. He inspected the poor sight before him, squinty eyes roving around. Though he couldn't hear him, Simon imagined he huffed grumpily before marching into the cottage. His appearance, however brief, seemed to break a spell and the men fell to whispering. His own group, eyeing the stranger amongst them with distrust, turned their backs to him, excluding him. A loud crack broke the air and Simon instinctively ducked, arms covering his head. The yard fell silent. A booming voice cried out:

"No talking!"

before Simon realised it had been a gunshot. He tried not to think about who it had ended its life in. He looked around but found, even in silence, his group would not interact with him. He couldn't blame them. Their lives had torn asunder and now they found another cat amongst the pigeons. A strange looking, strange sounding, strange acting alien stood amongst them. No wonder they wore cautious looks. He could see a few men beginning to sit, the recent days taking their toll. Partly out of caution, and partly out of pride, Simon neglected to join them, even if his leg was begging for relief. He pressed his fingers into his palm, a childhood trait that couldn't be hammered out of him. River used to laugh and tell him he would make a cripple of himself.

* * *

Hours passed - though how many he could not say - and Simon could feel his composure waning. The sun, once lighting the yard in comforting rays, now slunk beyond the horizon. Night was fast approaching and Simon, like most, had begun to shiver as the air chilled, their breaths colouring the air around them. Other than the occasional bark of a guard, they had sat in sullen silence and Simon was yearning for change; preferably positive. The soldiers milling about, also bored by the lack of action, had taken to kicking at the sitting forms and spitting at the standing. More than once Simon had ended up wiping his face with his sleeve, holding back the retches.

His head had once again taken up the taboo and his leg, with its large cut down the shin, was shaking almost fit to burst. Fed up with his situation, he found himself begging Serenity to come back, to rescue him. He'd endure the taunts and the ribs, Mal's complaining and Jayne's threatening if only he could get out of this. His had been a life of relative comfort, and even with his fugitive status he had felt some safety in Serenity. This, the standing and waiting, the hits and the spits, was something he'd never encountered and he found himself struggling. He told himself to stay strong but with every passing hour, with every burst of pain, he conviction waved. Simon couldn't honestly say he would make it through what ever _this_ was.

Lost in his own head, Simon almost missed the re-emergence of the portly man from before. Now stood on the cottage doorstep, he surveyed his kingdom with beady eyes, evidently still bothered by it. With a single step he captured the attention of everyman present. They began to stand, groaning as their limbs returned to life. The man stood, hands clasped, and took a deep breath. From his jolly stature came a foghorn voice that blew the stressed men away.

"My name," he began, spittle flying. "is Captain Greydon. Those of you who will speak to me will address me as such." Here he paused, letting his gaze settle on the shuffling prisoners as though daring them to disagree. "You men are lucky!"

At this, many looked straight at him, protestations rising in their throats. At the clinking of clips in guns, they died down, content with looking on quizzically. Unknowing, or perhaps uncaring, of their stares, Greydon charged ahead.

"You get to re-build this go-shi. You get to be apart of something new. You are the architects of a new world!"

"More like the sacrifices."

As one the assembled men turned to face the out crier. Striding forward, an older man, the tips of his hair grey, stood with his arms wide. Greydon stood stock still, his training not covering justified interruptions.

"Don't you see! We are going to be the bodies upon which this 'new world' is to be built. You want us to create it?" He jabbed a finger at the unmoved Captain. "Then count me out."

Greydon nodded, lips puckered in thought. Raising his arm in a 'whatever' motion, he spoke at a lower volume, as though pained by the refusal.

"So be it."

From behind, a guard withdrew his pistol, put it to his head, and pulled the trigger. Amongst shouts of fear, the body flopped to the floor. Simon watched, unable to tear his eyes away. Greydon nodded once more. Raising his eyes to the remaining men, he sighed and returned to his speech, certain the men would be paying attention.

"As I was saying, you will be the tools, the devices of this new, much improved world we are creating. Tomorrow, as you are no doubt tired, we will sort through formalities. For now, however, you will find accommodation beyond what you deserve in the barn. Don't attempt to escape nor cause trouble, for you will be duly punished. That is all."

And with that, he turned and marched inside.

Simon hardly wrapped his head around what had happened before guards, finally with something to do, were poking him in the back with their guns. He found himself trailing along with at least one, more likely two, hundred men towards the barn. The big doors pulled open, Simon felt his mouth drop at the sight he presented. Bunk beds, at least four tiers high, covered the entirety of the walls. The barn was not at all large, making it impossible for all the men to be standing in the centre at one time. Men, pushed from behind, found themselves forced onto the barren boards of the bed. By the time Simon reached a bed, the room had nearly filled up, leading to him laid along with three men, second bed up, seventh bunk along.

The excitement of the guards meant that, within ten minutes, all the men had 'found' a place. From the facilities 'better than he deserved', Simon reckoned he wasn't worth very much. In the corner he could see a bucket and along the centre sat a long table - the only furniture in the room. The guards beat a hasty retreat, uttering final warnings not to speak, before slamming the doors shut behind them. The world fell to darkness.

Curling up in the small space available, batting away the foot of the man next to him, Simon finally allowed the tears to fall. He could hear some whispering, offering comfort and reassurance. Nobody whispered to him. Never in all his life had he felt so alone, so desolate, so afraid.

He fell asleep hugging himself.


End file.
